


battle wounds

by kyliewrites



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Cliché Balcony Visits, F/M, Fluff, Major Character Injury, Misunderstandings, Obligatory Beach Trip, everyone is oblivious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6818170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyliewrites/pseuds/kyliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day had been amazing. A beach trip with her class in the last dregs of the school year, hours of conversation with the love of her life, and not an akuma in sight.</p><p>(In retrospect, she shouldn't have expected it to last.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the beach

**Author's Note:**

> well this is definitely a thing that i am writing instead of finishing itvods like i should... yikes
> 
> i'm expecting this to be around 7-9 chapters long (i was originally planning for 6 but i've already split a chapter in two because i wrote wayyyyy too much) and i'll try to update every week if possible. no promises tho i'm lazy af

The swell of the tide pushed at the sand and then clawed it back in, eating up the ground in big, hungry gulps. The sunlight touched the waves gently, dapples of thin clouds casting shadows that were quickly swept away by the balmy wind. Marinette closed her eyes as a layer of sea spray coated her face and settled lightly on her dress, enjoying the reprieve from the angry heat. She shifted slightly, grimacing at the feeling of red-hot fabric brushing against her sticky thighs. It was _way_ too hot; she wanted to crawl into an air-conditioned cocoon and not emerge until the temperature had dipped below 30 degrees.

Alya's distinctive shriek reached her ears and she peeled her eyes open just in time to see Nino overturn a bucket of seawater onto her head.

" _Nino_!" Alya squawked, looking furious. Nino's smug expression quickly gave way to fear as she stomped toward him, a murderous Aphrodite kicking up a hurricane of sand.

Marinette watched with amusement as Nino tried to verbally defend himself, arms raised in a feeble attempt to put a barrier between him and Alya's wrath. A laugh bubbled up as her best friend, clearly not caring for what he had to say, tackled him into the ocean stretched out behind them.

"If violence is their method of flirting, I'm very concerned for what they'll be like when they actually get together," a voice said from behind her. Marinette tilted her head slightly to glance at the ridiculously handsome blonde who had approached her. To her disappointment, he was fully clothed, but his presence still brought a rush of blood to her cheeks.

"I'm sure they'll tone it down...eventually," Marinette said, trying to ignore her suddenly very dry mouth. Adrien snorted, tugging at his shirt. His khaki shorts were low on his narrow hips, showing just the smallest crescent of bare stomach. Not that she was looking. Nope. Not at all.

"Why aren't you swimming like the rest of the class?" She blurted out, dragging her eyes (okay, maybe she was looking a little bit) up to his face.

She immediately blanched; was that too intrusive of a question? Was that rude? Oh God it was probably rude and Adrien definitely noticed and started to hate her and now they'll never go back to being friends or anything more, for that matter—

He flopped down on the blanket beside her, holding up a bottle of what she recognized as sunscreen. "I have a shoot tomorrow, and I'm told that the easiest way to burn is to be in the water. I wish I could, though." He gazed wistfully at the sea. "It's hotter than hell out here."

"Yeah, you—I mean, it is," Marinette said. Internally, she groaned, the butterflies in her stomach turning to heavy lead. She was a mess; no wonder her crush on Adrien hadn't gone anywhere in the two years she had known him. She had made progress with him friendship-wise, no doubt thanks to Alya and Nino _mysteriously_ hanging out more and leaving them to be the corresponding third and fourth wheels, but her unfortunate habit of turning into a spaz whenever he so much as smiled at her was proving to be difficult for her flirting capabilities. At least it had gotten better over time, but even if her flustered disposition magically disappeared, Marinette would still be extremely reluctant to taint their newly-found camaraderie with her very not-platonic feelings.

Adrien, thankfully, did not seem to pick up on her vocal mishap and continued to talk.

"Nathalie told me to stay in the shade," He said slowly, lips curled slightly up, the unspoken _but_ hanging in the air.

"I'm sure you won't burn," Marinette said, hoping that her voice sounded reassuring and not desperate.

"It'll only be for a few minutes," Adrien said, winking at her mischievously and momentarily short-circuiting her brain cells.

With that, he pulled his shirt off, glancing at Marinette who was definitely _not_ looking at his beautiful washboard abs, nope, not at all. "Do you want some sunblock? You look a bit red."

"I'm fine," she squeaked.

"Suit yourself," Adrien shrugged, and started applying it to his arms.

_Don't look, don't look, don't look..._

"So why aren't _you_ swimming with the rest of the class?" Adrien asked, rubbing sunscreen onto his already golden skin.

Marinette subconsciously rubbed her arm (Chat had called it a nervous tic, when he pointed it out to her.) Her sweaty palm caught on the light fabric of her dress, and she glanced down at it in annoyance. It was the best option for her to wear given her... situation. It was full-length, stopping at her toes, the slightly sheer floral fabric becoming more and more opaque as it made its way up her body. The fabric covered her shoulders and the entirety of her arms, but was still light and breathable, which kept her from combusting in the heat.

She picked at a strand of fabric as she answered, carefully avoiding his earnest stare. "I...I'm afraid of water," she said lamely, ripping the pesky string off of her dress.

"Really?" Adrien asked, and she nodded, grateful that he didn't press any further.

She really, really hated lying.

They sat in silence for a few awkward seconds when Marinette saw Adrien bite his lip, looking troubled. He turned to her with a question in his eyes.

"Marinette, I'm so sorry to ask you this but..."

She tensed, bracing herself for the onslaught of prodding, invasive questions and accusations. _Oh god, oh god, he's going to find out..._

"...can you get my back?"

_Wait, what?_

She stared at him, puzzled, until he sheepishly held up the bottle of sunscreen. _Oh_. The sun suddenly seemed so much hotter as she flushed.

"Um... Sure," she said in an embarrassingly high voice as she extended her hand to take the sunblock.

Adrien gave her a heart shattering smile. "Thank you so much," he said brightly, and Marinette was sure that his content expression would be burned into her retinas for days to come.

She turned her body to fully face him and he swiveled away from her, leaving her to look at the broad expanse of his perfectly muscled back—God, puberty had hit that boy like a _truck_ . Of course, he had been just as beautiful as a lanky boy of fourteen, delicate features and waifish form painting him as almost otherworldly as he flitted through mundane life. But a year or so ago, he had started lifting weights, eating more. Muscle bloomed on his body, his slightly hollowed cheeks filling out and giving his face a more mature look as he crossed the threshold from boy to man. And Adrien Agreste, as beautiful of a boy he was, made a _very_ attractive man. A man that had asked her to slather sunscreen all over his toned, tanned muscles. Marinette swallowed and squeezed some of the cool sunscreen onto her trembling hands, gently placing them on his skin. She felt him shiver against her palms.

"Cold?" She asked, her voice just as shaky as her hands had been.

_Pull yourself together, Marinette, you can do this._

"Not too bad," he laughed as she started to spread it across the tundras of his skin, dipping into the valley of his spine and the jut of his shoulder blades. "You have nice hands.

_I can't do this. System overload! System overload!_

She was dead. She was already buried six feet underground in her own personal dumpster graveyard, a trashcan sculpture resting above her cold, dead corpse with the words _Here lies Marinette, human disaster,_ carved into the cool stone.

She contemplated the unfairness of it all; how in the world was she supposed to function like a normal human being when Adrien Agreste, model, her crush, and one step away from being a literal Greek god, had asked her to slather his back with sunscreen and then had told her _she had nice hands?_ She was dead, she was so, so dead.

"Um...uh...well... _thanks_?" She stuttered. Her tongue had become rubber.

"Sorry," he said...nervously? Was he nervous? She'd never seen Adrien blush before, but the tips of his ears were now a bright pink. "That was weird."

"Yeah, a little," she said with a shaky laugh, surprising herself. Unbelievably, she felt some of the anxiety that usually accompanied Adrien's presence dissipate. The knowledge that he could misspeak sometimes, could get flustered, even, was bizarrely calming. "It’s alright though...I like weird.

She felt his back tremble with laughter. "I'm glad."

They were silent after that, and Marinette let her gaze wander away from the model. She saw Alya and Nino still play-fighting in the sea, giggling as water sprayed both their faces. She saw Rose and Juleka  padding along the beach, picking up seashells and sand dollars strewn across the ground. Mme. Bustier was draped over a lawn chair, sporting a cute but modest tankini and her hair tied up in its usual bun, keeping a keen eye on her students. Even Chloé looked content, dipping her expensively painted toes into a tide pool while Sabrina fanned her.

"Chloé looks like she's going to behave today," Marinette mused, her hands still trailing circles over Adrien's sun-warmed skin.

"Mm, that's good," Adrien said, his voice mellow. He sounded completely relaxed, almost sleepy in the simmering temperature.

"Yeah, an akuma in this heat would be...unbearable," Marinette sighed. "I can barely think straight, much less run around and risk getting killed."

"Same, but at least fighting it isn't y—our problem," Adrien said, much to Marinette's amusement, because fighting akuma definitely _was_ her problem. Not that Adrien would know that.

"Yeah, but what about poor Ladybug and Chat Noir?" She countered, raising an eyebrow even though he was still turned away from her (and she was still massaging his back, she noticed with a gulp.) "I feel like a lot of people forget that underneath the masks, they're just regular people suffering from the heat, just like you or me."

For a moment, Marinette thought she felt Adrien tense, but half a second later he chuckled. "I guess you're right," he said, turning around to grin at her. Marinette dropped her hands. He seemed to study her for a few seconds, and she felt horribly exposed under his piercing gaze.

"They give up a lot for the city," Marinette said, defensively.

"It's their responsibility," said Adrien.

"It was their choice to help people out, they can't be more than our age," she pressed.

Adrien looked at her quizzically. "You have...an interesting view on them. A lot of people consider superheroism their jobs."

"I think taking things for granted is a very bad idea," Marinette said, looking down at her hands. One of her knuckles was slightly grazed, an injury that no one but herself would notice. "Especially something as fallible as a human being."

Adrien looked insulted, strangely enough. "I wouldn't say they're fallible, they're incredible. Ladybug can do anything."

Marinette frowned at the exclusion of her partner in Adrien's last statement. "Not without Chat Noir, and Chat _makes_ himself vulnerable when he rushes in headfirst to protect her," she said. At Adrien’s surprised face, she added, “The Ladyblog records their fights and I notice that Chat seems to have _no_ sense of self-preservation whatsoever, especially when it comes to Ladybug’s safety. It’s worrying.” She resisted the urge to add _that dumb cat_ to the end of her statement; that was a phrase reserved for Ladybug and Ladybug only.

Adrien's mouth dropped open, and after a few moments, closed into a slightly curved smile. "Chat's not vulnerable, I hear he has an eight-pack, that he's shredded."

"Oh god," Marinette put her head in her hands.

"What?"

"You're meme trash," she groaned, voice muffled by her fingers. "I should've known."

She could almost _feel_ Adrien's grin as he looked at her. "Just wait until you see my extensive collection of anime."

She laughed, and just like that, their conversation turned to more lighthearted subjects.

“Soooo…” Adrien said, drawing the word out. “What _are_ your thoughts on Ladybug and Chat Noir? As like. Regular people. I heard you’ve worked with them before.”

“With Chat,” Marinette corrected with a smile, trying not to snicker at his statement; he didn't even know how true it was. Adrien nodded, giving her a prod to continue.

“Um. Ladybug is…Ladybug, I guess,” she said lamely. It was awkward to talk about herself in the third person, like she was an outside witness to her own actions and behaviors. “She's pretty cool. Always with a plan. Very pragmatic unless you get her angry or mess with someone she cares about.”

Adrien nodded thoughtfully. “And Chat?”

Marinette couldn't help the small smirk creeping up her lips. “Chat is a ridiculous flirt.”

She was surprised to see that Adrien's mouth popped open slightly in confusion, eyebrows raised incredulously. “ _What_ _?_ ” He asked. “What makes him a flirt?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “For example, when I first met him, he called me ‘Princess’, told me I was his Ladybug for the night, kissed my hand, and _flexed_ for me.”

Adrien stopped, apparently mulling over what she had just said. “I...I guess you're right,” he said eventually, still looking somewhat bewildered. “Is that all he is? A flirt?”

“Oh, _God,_ no,” Marinette said, waving her hand. “He's definitely brave, incredibly loyal to Ladybug, and even if his puns are ridiculous he's charming in his own way.” Her voice turned soft. “I think he's really underrated, not a lot of people realize how important he is to both Ladybug and the city.”

Adrien beamed at her, and she suddenly felt like she was looking into the depths of the sun. “Sounds like you’re a real fan.”

Marinette gave him a shy grin in response, because _of course_ she was a fan of her partner; he was her best friend on that side of the mask. Not that Adrien would know that, but Marinette had discovered that Chat’s ego wasn't as big as he made it seem, and it always made her happy to talk about the more unlucky side of their duo.

Both tried to ignore the swelling heat surrounding them as they chatted about everything and nothing. Adrien was just telling her about his recent trip to Milan when Alya and Nino finally joined them, and Marinette could only think of one other time where she had been this happy to see an umbrella, the current one being clutched in Nino's hand.

"Give me shade, Nino," she begged, arms outstretched towards the handle, her face colored pink by the sun. She just knew there would be an embarrassing amount of freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks by the time she got home.

"It's a twenty euro fee for umbrella privileges,” Nino said, retracting the umbrella from her reach with a smug grin.

That little _shit_.

She knew he was joking, but desperate times called for desperate measures and she was _dying_. "I have pictures of you from Kim's birthday party that I could easily send to your mother."

"...Fuck. Here you go, Mari."

"Damn, girl, you must be hot," Alya said, and added, with a wink, "Not that it comes as a surprise to any of us."

Marinette rolled her eyes, unfurling the umbrella and sticking it in the sand. "Yes, I'm the picture of attractiveness; my very obvious sunburn and sweaty face only add to the appeal."

Alya snorted. "Maybe, but I swear, if you weren't so stubborn and had just _worn your fucking bathing suit_ , guys would've been slobbering all over you."

"I don't like the water," Marinette said defensively, ignoring the last part of Alya's statement. She glanced at Adrien, who looked troubled for reasons she couldn't decipher. Maybe just the heat?

"So what? You could've just tanned," Alya said.

"I burn."

"You're suffering in that dress, Marinette. I need to show you freedom in the form of a skimpy bikini."

"Alya. _No_ ," Marinette said, letting some steel into her voice. If she had played along any more, Alya would've dragged her to some store after the field trip, which meant fitting rooms, which meant _someone seeing..._

"Alya _yes._ Oh, don't give me that look, _ma cherie_ , I was just joking," Alya said, plopping down next to her. "So anyways, last night, I was walking to the store when I saw _Ladybug_ , just jumping across the buildings like it was nothing..."

Marinette smiled at her friend, already knowing where the story was headed. Glancing in the other direction, she saw that Adrien had perked up at the mention of Ladybug, his eyes wide with interest.

Marinette felt herself deflate, much to her own surprise. She had wondered if Adrien was a fan of her alter ego, and although her suspicions were confirmed, she wasn't nearly as happy as she thought she would be. When she was Ladybug, she was powerful, strong, brave, beautiful. When she was Marinette, she was weak, clumsy, cowardly, and her round, childlike features painted her as more _cute_ than beautiful, a toddler amongst regular teenage girls. It was like, when she said those magic words, some foreign spirit took control of her conscious thoughts, bending them into wonderful shapes and telling her exactly what to do, exactly what to say.

She and Ladybug were two separate people. And Adrien was only fascinated with one of them.

"...And she said ' _H_ _i, Alya!_ ' She knows my name! She _recognizes_ me, and she agreed to a personal interview later this week!"

"Of course she recognizes you, you run the most renowned Ladybug blog in all of Paris," Marinette said, picking at a hangnail. "And you programmed that akuma alert system; that was probably really handy to her and Chat Noir."

It _had_ been handy; Marinette got news of attacks in half the time it usually took, leading to a much more efficient battle and clean-up, sometimes even allowing time for her and Chat to hang out and occasionally talk with the press.

"Yeah," Adrien agreed, "The city is safer thanks to you, Alya."

She puffed out her chest proudly, and Marinette smiled to think that her friend had found so much success due to her incredible journalistic talent and hunger for the truth. And her irrevocable obsession with superheroes.

"Nino and I are going to go get snow cones before we leave," Alya said a while later, the sun just beginning to dip on the horizon.

"Okay, I'll pack everything up if you get me one," Marinette said.

"You drive a hard bargain, Mme. Dupain-Cheng. Consider it done. Come on, Nino."

Nino scrambled to his feet, following Alya with an expression akin to a love-struck puppy.

Marinette sighed at their retreating forms.

"OTP?" Adrien asked from behind her.

"OTP," she replied, proud of herself for finding some semblance of vocal legibility around Adrien. She turned to smile dreamily at him. "Aren't they so great together?"

" _Al_ ya say, there's Ni- _no_ question about it," he joked, and she shoved him playfully, eyes narrowed in mock-anger.

"Adrien, that was probably the worst punning I've ever heard."

He looked at her with hurt eyes, and Marinette felt her heart stop. Did she push him too hard? Did he think she was serious? Oh god, and she had just begun to talk to him normally again—

Adrien quickly dropped his pained expression, dissolving into panic that she was sure matched her own. "Oh god, Marinette, I'm sorry. I didn't know you would think I was actually serious—"

"No, it's fine," Marinette interjected, "it's totally okay, I'm just..." She trailed.

"Not used to this," he finished, smiling apologetically.

"Yeah," she said. "Let's get this cleaned up so Alya gives me my snow cone."

They made quick work of the towels, umbrella, and the two nearly empty bottles of sunscreen (" _Jesus_ , Adrien, you must be greasier than American food"), stuffing them into Alya's beach bag. Mme. Bustier was just gathering up students and coaxing them to the waiting bus as they shoved the last of Nino's energy drinks into the bag.

"That seems like a satisfactory level of organization," Marinette says, kicking a bit of sand. "Well done, partner."

"I could say the same to you," Adrien says, slipping his shirt over his torso, his skin a couple shades darker than it was a few hours ago. "Shall we go?"

"We shall," Marinette said, grinning. He hefted the beach bag over his shoulder and made an _after you_ motion with his arms. Marinette started to trudge up the beach, following the trail the rest of her class had made. Tikki was currently on the bus, probably snacking on cookies and sipping on the ice water Marinette had left for her. It had taken Tikki a few days to recover from The Incident and it made Marinette nervous to be separated from her; she was anxious to reunite with her kwami despite her reluctance to end the day.

It had been amazing, despite the fact that she couldn't swim and was forced to stay fully clothed. She had spent quality time with Adrien, and had actually _talked_ to him. He was funnier than she thought he would be. And dorkier. But as she thought of his nerdy rambling spiels ("Quantum superposition is actually really interesting to learn about; like there's this guy named Schrödinger...") she felt her affection for him grow. He was beautiful. Today had been perfect.

(In retrospect, she shouldn't have expected it to last.)

She didn't notice the wind pick up, tiny grains of sand pelting her ankles, until it was too late. She shouldn't have made the skirt so loose. At the time, she had thought it was a great idea, being able to spin and have the wind catch on the dress, lifting it up just enough to reveal the start of her thighs. But now, the dress came up like a sail, exposing her skin, and Marinette spat out a bitter curse as she frantically tried to cover her legs, pressing the fabric flat against them. She bunched up the extra clothing in her fists, internally cursing her bad luck.

A sharp intake of breath made her freeze. She pivoted on her heels, slowly, turning around to see his expression.

_Please tell me he didn't see, please..._

Adrien was staring at her now-covered legs, blatant horror contorting his face.

"Marinette..." His voice shook, and she couldn't tell if it was from anger or shock or something else. "Where did those come from?"

_He saw._

_Oh, God, he saw._

"I...um..." Marinette bit her lip, cringing at the sudden tears welling up in her eyes. This day had been too good, she should've expected that something like this would happen. "I've got to go," she finally said, her voice cracking. Adrien was looking at her with lost eyes.

"Marinette, please—"

She didn't hear what else he said, because she ran away, like Marinette always did when she couldn't handle a situation. She felt the wind bite her face, rubbing it raw and mixing pained tears with the ones she had yet to shed. They rolled down her face, and she wiped them away before she clambered onto the bus.

"I got you your snow cone," Alya said as she entered, handing it to her. "Where's our stuff?"

"Thanks, Alya. Adrien has it, he lagged back a little bit," Marinette said, trying to make her voice sound like she wasn't dying inside.  
  
"That slowpoke, not used to doing menial labor," Alya joked, thankfully not noticing her emotional turmoil. "I'll let you sit by him on the trip back."

Marinette felt her heart drop. Any other time, any other moment, she would've been overjoyed. But not now.

"Well, actually—" she started, but Alya cut her off.

"No need to thank me, babe, I'm doing this for our mutual benefit," she said, eyes glinting as she subtly glanced at Nino, draped over Marinette's spot.

"Oh—okay," Marinette said stiffly. "Can I have my bag?" Alya handed it to her, reprimanding her for leaving cookie crumbs and an empty water cup on the bus.

"Littering is a sin, Marinette," she said, lip jutted into a pout. Marinette shrugged and threw the cup away, not wanting to explain that she left it there for a mystical, god-like bug creature that followed her around everywhere.

She took her seat near the window, gazing out of it listlessly, eyes lingering on the glimmering spiderwebs that stretched across the glass. A few minutes later, she felt him sit down next to her. She shifted a little, placing her hands loosely on her lap. So did he, the fabric of his khakis brushing against her pinkie finger. She heard his breathing as clearly as she heard the pounding of her heart, blood coursing, the tension between them electric, and not in a good way. She was swimming in it. She didn't turn around, trying to burn a hole in the glass with her eyes, imagining the cracking window, kaleidoscope images fracturing the sky and raining down like shatters of space rock, burning the atmosphere, burning her eyes, burning everything. The engine started with a tired rumble, and the bus wheels started to eat up the ground as they drove back to Paris.

The sun had set, leaving a hazy strand of green lingering on the cut of the earth. She dug her fingers into her thighs, trying to quell the dread curling around her diaphragm, flooding her lungs and throat; it made it so hard for her to _breathe_.

A hand immediately shot out to grab hers, ripping it away from her flesh. She looked at his hand, gripping hers with a strength she didn't expect. She couldn't look at him; he was the sun, the brightest thing in this life or the next, and she had darkened him, an immense storm cloud with marred skin and lies, lies, _lies_.

"Marinette..." He whispered, like a loud noise might break her into little pieces.

"We'll talk later," she said to the window, withdrawing her hand from his clutch. Her voice was frigid, unbudging.

"I'm worried."

"I'm fine."

"The huge gashes on your legs say otherwise," Adrien whispered fiercely, reaching for her hand again, and it hurt her, how much he cared. But he couldn’t...he couldn’t find out what happened. She clawed at her brain for any reasonable excuse, any story she could tell that would make sense.

 _There's nothing,_ her exhausted mind said quietly,  _push him away._

So she did.

She whipped around, fixing him with a glare that made him recoil. "You don't know _anything_ , Adrien," she said, forcing iciness to flood through her vocal cords. He looked startled, like he had been doused in it's bitter chill. "We'll talk later."

"But—"

" _Later_."

She could feel his confusion, his hurt, and two weeks ago it would've mattered, but explaining everything truthfully would also necessitate telling him her identity, or at least hint to it, and while it was painful, if her secret somehow got out, Adrien would be the one paying for it. Alya and Nino would be the ones paying for it. Her parents, her classmates...it was for their sake that she couldn't say anything.

"I'll hold you to that," Adrien said finally, his voice hard. A promise. One she couldn’t let him keep.

They rode home in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry it started as fluff and devolved into horrible, horrible angst  
> feel free to shame me in the comments


	2. the bakery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which adrien keeps making mistakes, no answers are given, and life continues to suck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i cannot let my children be happy but i hope you enjoy the angst with a heavy dose of exposition

“Plagg, I have to help her.”

It had been a little while since he had gotten home from the beach trip, the sun long-set and the sky an inky black. The only thing illuminating Adrien's room was a small lamp on his nightstand, bathing the space with orange light, melting into a velvety darkness. Adrien was jittery, walking aimlessly around his room as he sorted through his thoughts, his Kwami floating beside him with eyes narrowed.

Plagg snorted, an odd sound coming his tiny body. “That's what you've been saying for the past hour, but all you've been doing is pacing around your room like you're trying to dig a hole through your floor.”

Adrien ran his hands through his hair, catching the blonde strands in his fingers and tugging at them, still trying to wrap his head around what had happened earlier that evening.

He had been overjoyed to talk to Marinette for an extended amount of time; they'd gotten closer since Alya and Nino had started to have their Not-a-Thing (they were definitely a Thing) but he hadn't _really_ gotten to socialize with her since he had gotten back from Italy a couple weeks ago. He found that Marinette was extremely easy to talk to after getting past her tendency to stutter around him (he supposed it had just been leftover awkwardness from the Gum Incident that made her so reluctant to be around him, but he couldn't blame her.) She was attentive, funny, and kind, and the day spent together only made Adrien’s affection for her grow.

But in a heartbeat, the lovely day came to a screeching halt. The light atmosphere was blown away, a grain of sand in the wind that had also flung Marinette's skirt up to reveal her legs.

Marinette's legs.

Even when Adrien closed his eyes he could still see the cuts that spread up her calves and thighs, barely scabbed over and unbearably painful-looking. The dark, dull red that stood out like a brand against her untanned skin and made his stomach churn like he had been tipped upside down and swung into the Seine. He had known her for _two years;_ he had seen her in shorts tons of times, and before today her legs had always looked perfectly fine, long and amazingly toned and _powerful_ …

Adrien banged his head against his wall, guilt eating away his extremely inappropriate thoughts. He was _such_ an asshole; he shouldn't be thinking of Marinette’s legs with anything other than concern and horror at this moment. There were _lacerations_ scattered  across her skin, too large and too numerous to be accidental scrapes. Where the fuck did _Marinette Dupain-Cheng,_ actual sweetheart, get those horrible cuts? Why was she so averse to telling him where they came from?

A terrible thought crossed his mind.

_Did she do that to herself?_

_No!_ Adrien banged his head against the wall again. _No,_ he couldn't even begin to think about that possibility. Marinette had always been a slightly anxious and self-doubting person; it saddened him that she was constantly underestimating how amazing she was. But he didn't think that her mental health would suddenly sink to the point where she would mutilate herself. Alya would've known. Her parents would've known. _Someone_ would've known.

But even if her injuries weren't self-inflicted, it was extremely worrying that she was going through such lengths to hide them, refusing to say what their origins were. The possibilities flashed through his mind.

Was she in an accident?

No, he would've heard about it.

Was she being abused?

He had gone over to her house a few more times since Marinette and he had entered that gaming contest. He thought of the way Tom Dupain’s eyes crinkled with happiness, a gentle giant if he had ever seen one. He thought of how Sabine Cheng brushed Marinette's hair back with so much love and tenderness he had to look away.

There was no way they would intentionally hurt her.

Which left one more viable option: she was attacked, and something—or someone— was keeping her from talking about it.

At this thought, white-hot rage burned through Adrien's heart. Marinette was one of the kindest, most incredible people he had ever met, and if someone had given her those cuts, if someone had _hurt her—_

“I'm going to go see her tomorrow,” he muttered into his arm, trying to quell the murderous thoughts entering his mind. Assumptions or not, he needed to know the truth before he did anything rash.

“Sounds like a plan,” Plagg said, landing on his shoulder. “Get me some cheese and get to bed, Adrien, it's nearly three in the morning.”

Adrien nodded, knowing that he wouldn't get much rest at all, the sight of Marinette's damaged legs branded into the back of his eyelids. He kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto his bed, foregoing the process of changing into pajamas in favor of burying his head into something soft.

“Camembert’s in the mini fridge,” he said into his pillow, voice muffled.

His head was aching, the stress and worry and possible dehydration cumulating into a piercing pain filling his skull. He pounded a fist into his pillow, seeking comfort and failing to find it, the pain too distracting for him to appreciate his plush foam pad or the cool pillow against his cheek.

It was a while before he fell into a restless slumber, visions of Marinette’s pale, panicked face swimming in his dreams. She called out his name, reaching out for him and then withdrawing her arm as if something had burned her. She looked up to him desperately, her voice laced with pain.

“Adrien!”

“What happened to you?” He asked thickly, like there was tissue paper obstructing the sound.

“Adrien!”

“Please, Marinette, let me help you, I'm a superhero,” he pleaded, and he looked down at his now gloved hands. “You see?”

She backed away, looking like she had seen a ghost. “No,” she whispered. “You're not him. You can't be him.”

Adrien reached for her, the black leather melting off as his hand got closer.

“You're not him!” Marinette shrieked, catching herself with her palms as she tumbled backwards, scrambling away from him like he was trying to kill her. Cuts laced up her body. “You’re not a hero, _you’re not him.”_

“Then who am I?” Adrien said desperately, looking at his ringless hands, bare and nondescript. They could belong to anybody. He clenched them into fists, looking at Marinette with wild, questioning eyes. “Who am I?”

“You're _—”_

 _“—Adrien!_ It's nearly seven!”

His eyes snapped open, the air stinging his bloodshot sclera. He had to fight the urge to close them again as Nathalie barreled into his room, looking distinctly frazzled.

“We were supposed to leave five minutes ago for prep,” she said hurriedly, opening his curtains and letting the light filter in and flood the dark corners of Adrien’s room.

Shit. The shoot.

Adrien groaned, bringing his hands up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. They opened narrowly, peering at his tanned knuckles, and the events of the day before suddenly filled his mind like a tidal wave—

_SHIT. MARINETTE._

Silently panicking, Adrien scrambled for something to say.

“Actually, um, Nathalie, I'm not feeling too well, I'm a little nauseous,” he lied hastily, forcing himself into a sitting position. He did his best to sound adequately sick and tired; not bad enough to go to the doctor’s, but ill enough to necessitate the day off. It's not like he had to try that hard; the painful remnants of his headache still lingered behind his skull and the few hours of sleep he had gotten felt like nothing at all. He internally cursed himself for tanning yesterday; it would've been more realistic if he had been paler, but the dark circles under his eyes would not fail to send out warning signals in Nathalie's head.

True to form, she rushed over, hand searching for a fever as it met his skin, eyes examining his rumpled clothes and what he assumed was his less-than-stellar face before sighing defeatedly.

“Alright, Adrien,” she said wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Go back to sleep, I'll handle it.”

She strode out the room, already dialing to cancel the shoot, hair falling out of her usually neat bun. Adrien felt a tiny bit guilty for making things harder on her, but even if he _had_ gone to the shoot, he most likely would’ve been too distracted to take good, “Agreste-quality” photos. He sighed and fell back into his bed, feeling the air rush out of his pillows.

He buried himself under his duvet and made a mountain of boy, kneading his knuckles into his brow bones in a feeble attempt to dispel the pressure in his head.

When he finally emerged, a drained and miserable butterfly from its cloth cocoon, Plagg was waiting for him.

“You look like you’re half dead,” he said, unimpressed by his failed metamorphosis.

“I feel like I’m half dead,” Adrien murmured in reply, rolling out of his bed and forcing his feet to catch him. He trudged across to the bathroom, his migraine getting worse with each step.

He hadn't been sleeping much recently; ever since he had come back from Italy he had been on patrol duty, the nights often stretching on until early morning. It wasn't fair that his father had sent him away only two weeks before finals, but luckily Adrien’s years of homeschooling had gotten him further ahead than where he needed to be, and none of the tests were _too_ hard. Nevertheless, the taxing patrols, the short hours of sleep, and the overall stress of finals and shoots for Gabriel’s summer line hadn't been too great for his health.

It would've been easier if Ladybug had been there to help him, but when he had called her, her expression had been just as strained and exhausted as his had been, if not more.

 _“I'm sorry, Chaton,”_ She had said, her voice a bit tinny coming from his baton speaker, _“but my kwami isn't feeling too well and I don't think she’s up for a patrol for another week or so.”_

He had played it off as though everything was fine, pushing down the wave of despair going over his head. “Goodnight, my lady,” he had said, putting as much flirt into his tone as possible, winking at her with a wide grin.

Ladybug had laughed. “Goodnight, silly kitty,” she said affectionately, the screen going blank with a muffled _click._

The smile dropped off his face.

That discussion had prompted a larger conversation with Plagg, one that tied Adrien's stomach in knots whenever he thought about it.

“Kwamis are immortal, but we aren't invincible,” Plagg had said, wringing his little appendages in what appeared to be worry. “When you’re in costume, we take the brunt of the blows you receive, which usually isn't that big of a deal—It takes a lot to actually hurt us. I mean, of course there's going to be an off-day when we get sick or have a cramp or whatever, but for Tikki to be laid up for more than a week?” His ears flattened back. “She must've absorbed some serious injuries meant for Ladybug.”

Suddenly, the stresses of normal life were replaced with worry for Ladybug’s kwami (Tikki, Plagg had called her) and the overwhelming paranoia that Hawkmoth would choose that very week as an ideal time to corrupt a civilian. It had started to leak into his behavior at school, something he hadn't realized until Marinette had brought him a plate of cookies from her bakery and told him to feel better with a small, nervous smile (she herself seemed to have been taking finals week hard, her hair tied into a messy bun instead of her neat pigtails, dark circles still prominent under her light concealer.) He had thanked her quietly, hoping that no one else had noticed how Goddamn tired he was.

After that, things almost magically seemed to get better. Finals concluded, people voted to celebrate with a day trip to the beach, and more importantly, Ladybug had called to tell him that her kwami was back at full health. At the beach, Adrien was beginning to feel like he was a real person again, enjoying the warm air on his skin and the company of Marinette as they chatted the day away, stress melting off of him by the minute.

Of course, it had returned full-force the moment he saw the cuts covering his friend’s legs.

Adrien leaned against the bathroom counter, staring vacantly into the mirror. He looked terrible, anxiety riddled in the creases of his skin, tucked underneath his eyelids and bruising them a light purple. His full lips turned downward, Grecian nose wrinkled with distaste. This wasn't the first time he’d looked at his reflection and hated every bit of it, but it was proving to be extremely annoying today. He didn't want Marinette fussing over _him_ when he was going to check up on her, which Adrien knew would inevitably happen approximately .56297 seconds after she looked at his face.

He grimaced, reaching for a bottle of concealer that he swiped from a shoot a few months ago and proceeded to smear it under his eyes.

“I hope she's awake,” he murmured absently, stowing the makeup away. “I’d hate to get caught sneaking out for nothing.”

Half an hour later, he entered _Le Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, _the bell tinkling as he opened the door. It was moderately busy, people bustling about as they selected their Saturday morning breakfast. He made his way up to the counter, smiling at the familiar dark-haired woman at the register.

“Adrien! Good morning,” Sabine greeted warmly, her grey eyes crinkling with her smile. “You look a bit tired, did you sleep okay?” She reached out and put her warm hand on the side of his cheek. Adrien inhaled slowly, breathing in the scent of warm bread and coffee, fighting the impulse to close his eyes and lean into the touch.

She was so motherly it hurt; memories of his own poured back into his mind and the gaping hole in his heart seemed to beg for attention, for love. Adrien grimaced through it, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment as she pulled her hand away. “It was a long week, I'm glad it's over now,” he managed.

“I'll bet,” Sabine said, nodding emphatically, lips pursed. “Marinette’s been cooped up in her room for the past few weeks; finals really took a toll on her.”

“How is she? I actually came to see her,” Adrien said, trying to sound casual and not desperate, red slashes flaring up in his mind.

Sabine's eyes seemed to twinkle. “I'm sure she's up by now, you can go on up to the living room if you want.”

Adrien nodded, relief flooding through his chest. “Thank you.”

“It's no problem, dear. Take a croissant up with you!” She said, setting a plate on the counter between them.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Cheng,” Adrien said, gingerly taking one.

“Please, dear, call me Sabine,” she said as he walked past, that gentle smile never leaving her lips.

“Thank you, Sabine,” he said, a pleasant feeling blooming in his heart. He hadn’t felt it in a while, not with his mother so long-gone. It was nice to feel it again.

He strode towards their upstairs apartment, crossing the threshold that separated house from bakery, the smell of powdered sugar and espresso lingering as he climbed the little staircase. He nibbled on his croissant, praying that his dietician would never find out about it.

He suddenly remembered the last few times he was in the Dupain-Cheng residence, the warmth that emanated from the picture frames and walls, the feeling of being so undoubtedly _welcome_ lightening his head until it felt like he would float away. He had never expected the familiar, ever-mounting anxiety to make an appearance as he approached the door leading into that cozy little home. His knuckles met the door with four short knocks, the sound echoing dully through the hallway.

From inside, there was a few thumping sounds, the sound of feet landing, a muffled voice. The door opened to reveal Marinette, her hair still slightly mussed from a pillow and a smear of jam on side of her mouth. Her bleary eyes widened as they processed exactly who was in front of her.

“Hey, Marinette,” Adrien said apologetically, eyes trailing along her completely covered arms and legs, “May I come in?”

Marinette visibly hesitated, her shoulders stiffening. She bit her lip, looking like she had just been force-fed a lemon. “Of course,” She said, but she didn’t sound too sure.

“Thank you,” he said as he entered the Dupain-Cheng residence. He had always thought that their house was charming, a little bit cramped compared to what he was used to but never uncomfortable. It was cozy, he decided, an antithesis of the empty hallways and silent rooms he was well-acquainted with. He turned around to face Marinette, who was closing the door with the same wariness that she invited him in with.

“Do you want something to eat?” She asked carefully, turning to face him.

“No thank you.”

“How about tea?”

“Sure.”

Marinette busied herself in the kitchen, pouring an enormous amount of attention into heating up the water, eyes fixated on the silver kettle. Adrien watched awkwardly as she shuffled around, pulling a container from a cupboard and two delicate-looking white mugs.  
“Are you okay with jasmine?” She asked distractedly.

_Okay, time to do it Adrien. Tell her the reason you’re here. Tell her you’re worried._

“Yes, that’s fine,” Adrien said, and fell silent.

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

The kettle whistled and Marinette ran over to it, seemingly ignoring Adrien’s internal self-berating.

“Marinette…” Adrien tried, his voice growing softer with each syllable.

“Hm?” She hummed, her strained tone betraying her false cheerfulness. The mugs clinked together as she poured scalding water into them. “Tea will be ready in a few minutes.”

“O-Okay.”

He scrutinized her as she busied herself with getting the drinks ready.

Marinette had the sort of effortless beauty about her that drew people in like nobody’s business. Adrien knew for a fact that over half of their class had a crush on her at one point or another, and he could easily see why. Her big blue eyes and pouty lips made her instantly adorable, and while she didn't have the chiseled, polished look that characterized models, her round features had their own soft appeal to them.

 _Ladybug,_ his brain reminded him, effectively ending that train of thought.

“Do you want sugar in yours?” She murmured, dumping a fair amount into her own mug.

 _Yes._ “No, thank you,” Adrien said politely accepting the mug she held out to him. He sipped the warm liquid, feeling it melt into his chest.

“Good?” Marinette asked, rubbing her clothed arm.

“Mmhm,” Adrien hummed, narrowing his eyes at the motion.

“Good,” Marinette said, and fell quiet.

Adrien sipped at the tea.

There was exactly ten whole seconds of silence. Adrien could have counted them as years; time seemed to stretch in the most unpleasant way, pressing against his skull like the worst migraine he's ever had.

“I think we should talk,” Adrien blurted out, fracturing the tense quietness with his sharp tone. “About yesterday, I mean.”

Marinette’s demeanor immediately shifted from cautious to downright defensive, her lips pursing, knees locking in place and the set of her eyebrows lowered into her lashes. It was a vaguely familiar gesture for reasons Adrien couldn’t discern, but nonetheless it scared him how quickly she put her walls up to him.

“Actually,” she said in a clipped tone, “I have a lot of homework I need to catch up on, so I don't think I'll have the time—”

“We haven't had any homework for the past week, Marinette,” Adrien said gently. “We need to talk about this.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” she snapped, folding her arms.

“Are you kidding me?” Adrien asked desperately. “Did you just expect me to see those cuts on your legs and then just _ignore_ them?

“They aren’t even that bad,” Marinette said, and then winced. Adrien caught her slip-up like a jar of water in the desert, holding onto it with a fierce desperation.

“Then why won’t you tell me where they came from?” he pressed.

“I fell,” she said immediately.

Adrien snorted; that was a lame excuse if he ever heard one. “Marinette, you don’t get cuts like that from _falling.”_

“I fell on rocks.”

“ _Marinette_.”

“Adrien,” she pleaded, fingers digging into her arms as she held them. “Please, I _really_ don’t want to talk about it.”

Adrien’s heart dropped, because behind that small, scared voice, there was a tone of finality. Over the past few months he had learned that Marinette, among being incredibly brave and kind and funny, was obstinate as hell. She wasn’t going to tell him anything, no matter how hard he tried.

He sucked in a breath. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I swear to God, Marinette, I’ll tell somebody about them if you don’t explain what’s going on,” he said harshly, his voice cracking a little. She froze, her mouth falling open in shock.

When he first met Marinette Dupain-Cheng, she was fiery, standing proud and tall and confronting what she perceived as blatant jerk-headedness (granted, she aimed her anger at the wrong person, but her sense of justice and the courage needed to stand up for herself made her easy for Adrien to admire.) Her voice was burning, ardent. She demanded respect with her every motion. She had gotten more timid around him since their first heated encounter, but he still remembered the blaze in her eyes, her hands on her hips, and the feeling that he should be very, _very_ scared of getting on this girl’s bad side.

It turned out that he was right, because feeling Marinette’s angry fire was nothing compared to the coldness she was directing toward him now.

Her mouth clamped shut, eyes narrowing into little chips of ice. “Don’t you dare,” she said, voice dangerously low. “Don’t you dare, Adrien Agreste.”

Adrien willed himself to not cower under her murderous stare. “I _would_ dare, if it meant that you would get help.”

“I don’t need help,” she said frigidly. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” he said, frustration welling up in his chest. “Marinette, you’re one of the most important people in the world to me, one of my best friends, and you’re _hurt_ and you’re trying to hide it from all of us! I’m worried about you, and I know everyone else would be too if they knew.”

Marinette’s expression softened slightly at his words. “I’m sorry I’m worrying you,” she said, “But I swear, I’m _fine_. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Would Alya agree? Would your parents?” Adrien asked sharply. “Would they think that everything’s fine and dandy if I told them that your legs look like they went through a cheese grater?”

Marinette, to his immense guilt, looked extremely uncomfortable before it melted away to an icy anger. “I think you should go,” she said coldly.

Adrien let the air rush out of him and closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said, opening them and starting for the door. The tension was thick, dancing across his ribs and nudging his stomach. He felt sick. He could feel Marinette’s eyes on him, burning like dry ice.

“Have fun doing homework,” he said bitterly as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

He had only barely managed to sneak back into his room when Nathalie knocked on his door, three clipped, tailored raps delivered promptly to his aching head. He crumpled onto his bed, letting out a heaving breath as his knees folded underneath him. He felt like he was being unwoven, a terrible mixture of fear and grief and regret tearing him apart like weathered fabric, molecules floating softly into the atmosphere.

“Come in,” he said tiredly, burrowing his face into his pillow, careful not to squish the kwami hiding in his front pocket.

A click resounded, the sound of shoes clacking on his floor. The latch snapping shut as the door closed. Quiet wisps of air on his burning skin. Nathalie’s voice, her clinical tone bouncing off the walls and into his eardrums.

“Your father wishes to see you.”

Adrien peeled himself away from his pillow, the fabric clinging to his wet cheek. “He’s back from Madrid?”

“He flew in last night. Are you crying?”

Adrien balled a fist and wiped away the wetness lingering on the crease of his eyes. “No, just allergies. What does he want?”

Nathalie pursed her lips. “He didn’t mention. Adrien, if there’s something going on, I can schedule an appointment with Dr. Duval—”

“Nothing's going on,” Adrien lied, standing up and reaching for his converse. “I just don't feel well.”

“You haven't been feeling well for weeks now, Adrien. Your dietician has informed me that you’re losing more weight than your calorie intake allotted for, and you’ve been showing clear signs of stress even since you came back from Milan.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Adrien said, tone dripping with sarcasm. He yanked one of his shoes on. “It's not like I went home in the midst of finals, endless shoots for the summer line, and my dad sticking around for a whopping _three hours_ before hopping on a jet to Spain without so much as a goodbye.”

Nathalie's face was carefully composed. “Adrien, you know your father is a busy man—”

“He didn't even bother to come to Italy with me; he just shipped me off without a second thought because he had _conferences_ to attend to.” Adrien tugged his other converse on, the heel dragging over his skin almost painfully.

He sighed. “And now he has one with me. Because that's the only way he will ever find the time to talk to me—when he wants something.”

He didn't wait for Nathalie to reply. He slipped past her and into the hallway, vision blurry on the edges.

“You okay, kid?” Plagg asked once Adrien was well and truly alone, his tiny voice failing to echo through the large room. He sounded uncharacteristically concerned, large green eyes focused on his face.

He wilted, shoulders slumping like his spine was trying to imitate a the curl of a fiddlehead. Heaviness pressed on the fronds of his ribs, the pulse of his heartbeat scalding with overwork.

“No,” he said, pressing a hand against the bridge of his nose, footfalls resounding heavily as he trudged down the stairs. “I'm exhausted.”

He knocked on the door of his father’s study, knuckles cracking against mahogany.

“Come in,” came the muffled reply, stifled by polished wood.

He had grown up listening to his father’s voice, the deep tone shifting effortlessly to a laugh or even soft words, melodies whispered under his breath. His mother would drag him to the piano and sing along, rich alto melding nicely with his bass, laughter saturating the notes and knocking them off-pitch.

These were the lovely things that faded away with her disappearance, melting away into memory. His father didn't sing anymore, and the stern, cold tone he had adopted would always be slightly unfamiliar to Adrien’s ears. _Come in_ sounded more like _go away._

He entered, feeling smaller than a child. “You called for me, _Père?_ ” He asked, clasping the back of his neck like a lifeline (Ladybug had called it a nervous tic when she pointed it out to him.)

“Yes. Sit down, Adrien.”

He sat. His father’s icy blue eyes were piercing beneath his glasses, hands clutching at a plain white folder.

“Look at these,” Gabriel said, handing him the folder.

Adrien swallowed, taking the folder and flipping it open. Inside were several glossy photographs of him, features frozen in a suave expression that didn't draw the eye nearly as much as the impeccable clothing he was wearing.

“What is this?” His father asked.

“It’s...it’s some photos from a shoot last week, _Père_ ,” he said, heart dropping. Oh boy. That hadn't been a great day.

“Just _a_ shoot?” Gabriel hedged, tone expectant. His fingers tapped lightly on his desk, the only thing betraying his impatience.

“No,” Adrien sighed, flipping through them. “It was the introductory shoot for your summer line.”

“Correct,” his father said, clasping his hands neatly together. “And what do you notice about these photos?”

Adrien glanced down at them, quickly categorizing what he saw. Well, they were unedited. His body looked a little too clunky, too slouched for them not to be. The clothes fit him like a glove, and his carefully put-together expression only served to highlight them, lips slightly parted, eyes narrowed with exhaustion—

Wait a minute.

He examined them more closely. Yep, that was the problem that his father was focusing on. Even with makeup caked onto his skin, the bags under his eyes were evident, his eyes heavy like he could barely keep himself awake (and if he remembered the shoot correctly, that had been exactly the case). The set of his shoulders, conversely, were tense, and threw every pose he was in off balance.

“I look...tired,” Adrien said finally, looking up from the folder. _Tired_ was an understatement; the shoot had been in the midst of finals and he had missed a physics and French exam that he would have to find time to take later. Fencing, Chinese, and piano lessons ate up his hours like a starving animal. To add on to his already overflowing plate, he had been flying solo as Chat Noir, patrols extending into the early hours nearly every night. He wasn’t just tired, he was _burnt out_ , the smoking embers of what had once been a steady fire.

Gabriel nodded. “You look tired, Adrien, and that is the antithesis of what we want the summer line to portray. Gabriel Fashion is about making our clients feel renewed through their clothing, and we can't have our lead model depict the exact opposite of that.”

Adrien bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

Gabriel paused, seeming to contemplate something. “I think…that the main cause of your stress and exhaustion may come from that school. It's not a good influence on you.”

Adrien whipped his head back up, eyes widening. “Father, _no_. I promise that's not the case.”

“Ever since you’ve started going to that place you’ve been increasingly lethargic, especially now, and it worries me that it might be having a negative impact on your career.”

Adrien grimaced; there was no way he could tell his father that his fatigue was mainly due to the fact that he perused around Paris at night in a _catsuit._ “It’s not that, Father,” he said desperately.

Gabriel pursed his lips. “Then what is it, Adrien?”

Oh shit. He should’ve seen this coming.

“Um,” Adrien said, an eloquent response.

His father narrowed his eyes, his gaze prompting.

“Um...well...it’s—I guess it’s kind of—well, I don’t know but. It’s, um, a, well… a girl?” Adrien said, a jungle of words that he didn’t process until Gabriel did. Oh _shit._

“Pardon?” Gabriel asked. Adrien felt heat flood his face. Oh _Dieu,_ he was a fucking _idiot. Why did he say that?!_

“Um,” Adrien said again. He should be a professional debater. “It’s because of a girl. That I know. A girl. Yes. That is the thing that I just said.”

“Who is she?” Gabriel prodded. “Is it the Bourgeois girl?”

“No, it’s not Chloé,” Adrien said, mouth tingling nervously. “It’s um...uh…” Inspiration stuck. “Marinette! Yes. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. That’s her.”

His father looked thoughtful. “Is that the one who made the feathered bowling hat? The baker’s daughter?”

Adrien smiled weakly. “Yep. I mean, it’s not like we’re a _thing_ or anything, but we’ve been spending a lot of time together and I get...nervous, I guess.”

It wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t a lie either, he supposed. Flashes of red cuts ran through his mind again, her panicked, pleading eyes resurfacing from his memories.

Gabriel nodded, still deep in thought. “I suppose...she is an acceptable partner. I will allow you to date her if you so choose.”

Bitterness returned with a vengeance. “I didn’t know that you would have to approve of the girls that I like,” Adrien said irritably.

“Watch your tone,” his father reprimanded, voice cold. “The people you choose to see not only reflect upon you, they also become a facet of the company’s image, one you need to protect, Adrien. Being my son comes with responsibilities, ones that you have been shucking off because of the negative influence public school has brought upon you.”

“I told you, it’s not—”

“Don’t interrupt me, Adrien. Because of it's increasingly unfavorable effect on both your behavior and health, I’ve decided that you will not be returning to _Lycée_ next year.”

Adrien felt his mouth pop open in horror. “What—”

“If you can prove to me that you can behave and embody the _proper image_ of Gabriel Fashion, then I might reconsider. But until then, you finish out this year and then go back to private tutoring.”

“Father—”

“You may go.”

“But—”

“ _You may go_ , Adrien.”

It wasn’t so much a suggestion as an order. Adrien rose from his chair, walking numbly to the door. There was a rock in his throat, because he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t talk, he felt like he was going to throw up.

All the while, he could feel his father’s cold gaze fixed on his back.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Adrien vaguely registered his piano instructor criticizing his heavy handedness, his Chinese lesson was more like a waterfall of Mandarin that even his teacher couldn’t keep up with, he got accidentally jabbed during fencing more times than he could count.

It wasn’t until that night, when the sky was black and he had collapsed into bed, that he finally let reality hit him.

“My life is _seriously_ sucking right now,” he groaned into his pillow, a tidal wave of dread threatening to overwhelm him.

“Tell me about it, kid,” Plagg said, zooming out of his pocket. “Do you know how many times I’ve eaten today? _Zero!_ I’m dying! Nobody would’ve let this happen in Aneb-Hetch, I swear.”

Adrien heard rustling, chomping, the sound of cheese being gobbled up by a tiny cat-god.

“Plagg, what am I going to do?” he asked, voice muffled by the fabric.

“What do you _want_ to do?” Plagg asked, his mouth full of cheese. “It’s not like you can do anything right now to make your dad change his mind.”

“I want…” Adrien said slowly, trying to figure it out as the words left his mouth. He wanted comfort. He wanted warmth. He wanted a friend. He sat up. “...I want to see Marinette.”

Plagg snorted, flying over to perch on his shoulder. “Bakery girl? That doesn’t seem likely to happen; she was capital-p _Pissed_ at you today.”

Adrien ignored him, gazing out of his window. “I’m going to go see her and find out what happened to her,” He said, standing up.

“Right now?!” Plagg asked incredulously. “It’s midnight and she’s mad at you; I don’t think she’ll appreciate you throwing rocks at her window.”

Adrien smiled tiredly, the fragments of his thoughts coming together to form a loose plan. At the beach she had talked a lot about him. He had caught onto her admirative and caring tone when she had described how he had contributed to the city; she genuinely liked and respected him as an individual, and not just as Ladybug’s partner.

He knew what to do.

“She’s mad at _Adrien Agreste._ I don’t think she’ll say no to _Chat Noir_ paying her a visit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue shameless marichat*
> 
> the next chapter might not be out for a while because a) i'm a little shit, and b) i have written exactly three (3) paragraphs down
> 
> but anyways i hope you enjoyed the copious amounts of hurt feelings and gabriel being, as my friend @icedcoffeeslut put it, "king bitch"


	3. the balcony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chat and Marinette have two (2) midnight rendezvous and slightly important things are discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i never thought that i would be That Guy that keeps her readers hanging for literal months before updating, but alas! it has been half a year. #yikes
> 
> i mean, it was mostly because i got a summer job and went to college, but it was also partly due to the fact that i'm a lazy piece of shit that i haven't finished this chapter even though i started it in may. haven't started the fourth chapter at all yet BUT i am halfway finished with the last chapter of itvods and winter break has started so that should be finished by the new year. if it hasn't, well...i have no excuses. enjoy the fruits of my half-assed labor.

“No.”

“Come on, Princess, I just want to talk!”

“Chat Noir, as much as I appreciate your heroic endeavors, I want to get to bed,” Marinette said, wrapping her fuzzy blanket around her more snugly. The cool summer breeze played with her loose hair, wisps blowing in the wind. “We can talk later.”

“But it’s important!”

Marinette narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the green-eyed stray who had decided it would be a great time to drop by her balcony and chat (pun definitely _not_ intended). “Is it an akuma?”

His ears drooped. “No.”

“Is anyone in immediate danger?”

“No.”

“Do you need my help with anything?”

“Not exactly…”

“Then we should both be sleeping right now,” Marinette said firmly. “You’ve probably got better things to do than to talk to me.”

Her partner looked down, apprehensiveness apparent from the slump of his shoulders and the slight curl of his gloved fingers. “I'm worried,” he admitted, running a hand through his unruly hair. The dim light did nothing to hide the catch on his lips, pulling them down into something a little less purposeful than a frown, a collection of troubles that chipped at his light hearted exterior. He looked surprisingly vulnerable in his leather armor, a fern about to bend over in a hurricane. Marinette felt her exhaustion float away as anxiety spilled into her bloodstream; Chat Noir, by his very nature, didn’t worry unless it was an extremely serious situation.

Marinette bit her lip, teeth catching on tender flesh and flooded iron onto her tastebuds. _Damn it._ “About what?” She asked softly, ignoring the blood on her lips in favor of Chat. Her eyes traced over the way his ribs cut against the night, the dull shine of his hair that was usually so much brighter, the way he swayed like he could hear hymns in the gentle wind. He sucked in a breath.

“About you,” he said.

“Wait—what?” Marinette said, startled. Chat Noir narrowed his eyes, scanning her reaction with his catlike pupils, and she felt suddenly out of her element. It wasn’t like she had never imagined her partner knocking on her windows, but in the rare occurrence that she did, it was always because he was hurt or needed help or was escaping from some aspect of his civilian life, which, Marinette knew from their talks during patrol, was not the best. She had never thought he would come for her own sake.

Chat Noir leaned back against her railing, the harsh lines of his limbs melding with the harsh lines of the fence, back bending against the open sky like he was bearing the weight of it on his spine.

“I’m worried about you, Marinette,” He said softly, and he sounded so achingly similar to another green-eyed boy that she had stubbornly pushed away, desperate but sweet-tempered, upset but mild mannered.

Until he hadn’t been.

_I swear to God, Marinette, I’ll tell somebody about them if you don’t explain what’s going on._

She inhaled a rattling breath. Her eyes widened. He did _not._

“Did someone... _say_ something, Chat?” She asked carefully, trying not to let the panic and anger/hurt/betrayal escape from her tight throat.

Chat had the decency to look apologetic. “Your—your friend was really concerned, he said it looked like you were seriously injured.”

 _Adrien goddamn Agreste_. Marinette gritted her teeth in outrage, her fists clenched tight. Her heart thumped, a ceaseless, anxious beat. She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, eyes narrowed into an icy stare. “He’s exaggerating,” she said curtly.

“He didn't look like the type to exaggerate,” Chat said gently, ignoring her rather obvious change of disposition.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Marinette said, rubbing her arm nervously. She saw Chat’s eyes follow the movement and she abruptly dropped her hand.

“Look, Marinette, I'm not going to push you if you don't want to be pushed—”

“I don't want to be pushed,” Marinette said immediately.

“But,” Chat continued, to her disappointment, “It's really concerning that you're injured, and very noticeably, too.”

Marinette looked down in confusion; her numerous cuts were completely covered by her sleepwear. “What do you mean?” She asked slowly, carefully shifting her voice into neutral. Her partner didn’t seem convinced by her act; his eyes flicked over her form, seeming to gauge her body language before responding.

“Your cheeks are red,” He said simply, an answer she was not expecting.

She tilted her head quizzically, eyebrows raised in question. “Last time I heard, blushing wasn’t considering an injury.”

“But you’re not blushing,” Chat pointed out. “You’ve been flushed since I got here.”

“And…?” Marinette asked tiredly.

“And it’s a warm summer night,” Chat said. “And you live above a bakery—the heat from the ovens probably rises through the house. It’s no wonder you’re red; you’re overheating.”

“So?”

Chat attempted a smile, but it was more of a grimace. “So it’s a little bizarre that you’re wearing pajamas that would be better suited for winter, despite the temperature.” Marinette froze.

Chat looked down. “Unless you’re hiding something.”

One thousand needles had decided to crawl up her skin, a rush of blood going straight to her already fevered cheeks. She had done _so well_ , for half a month no one suspected a thing, and then that fucking beach trip and then that beautiful boy and then that gust of wind—

A gloved hand tentatively found her cheek.

“You shouldn't have to hide, Princess,” Chat Noir said, green eyes meeting blue. She had always thought that Chat’s stare was intense, but his gaze felt like acid now. She closed her eyes, and they stung beneath her lids.

A drop of saltwater landed on the hand that was cradling her face. “I'm sorry,” she said, voice catching like off-beat gears. “I cry when I'm frustrated.”

Chat shook his head with a small smile, brushing off her apology like a spot of dust. “It's okay, me too. Why are you frustrated?”

She closed her eyes again, fuzzy afterimages burning on her lids. The beach. The wind. The boy. The balcony. “A lot of reasons,” she mumbled, too exhausted to lie to him.

“I'm sorry,” Chat said, brushing a thumb down her cheek. She willed herself not to lean into the movement. “I wish you could tell me what’s wrong.”

“I _want_ to tell you,” Marinette said, pulling away from him. She could handle Chat being flirty, she was used to his exuberance and terrible tendency to pun, but she felt horribly caught off-guard by how tender and almost _uncertain_ he was being. Especially with her significantly less important civilian self. “I just. Can't.”

Chat dipped his head in resignation. “I guess I'll let you get your beauty sleep then, Princess.” He sent her a small grin. “Not that you need it.”

Marinette smiled. “Thank you for understanding, Chat Noir.”

“Anything for you, Marinette,” he said, turning away. “Good night.”

Impulse seized control of her muscles, and she found herself grabbing his arm. “Wait,” she said, her voice clear and low. He swiveled around to face her again, confusion evident by the slight wrinkle of his nose, the downward quirk of his lip.

“I need to think,” Marinette said, swallowing down her anxiety. “I need to think about it, but...come here tomorrow night. I might...I might have an answer for you then.”

Chat’s eyes widened. “Of course,” he said, voice betraying his surprise. “Same time?”

Marinette nodded, and before she could stop herself, she pulled him in for a hug. She was used to his casual touches and attempts at handholding as Ladybug, but there was something oddly satisfying to feel the leather of his suit against her civilian hands, her bare cheek. She hummed as his arms tightened around her; it was nice to have him squeeze her back for a reason other than their lives being in danger. She made a mental note to hug Chat more often.

“Goodnight, Chat,” she mumbled against his chest. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow” He said, voice resounding through his chest. It felt funny in her ears. She untangled herself from him, letting out a soft breath as cool air hit her body. Chat looked at her with an inscrutable face before stepping off her balcony and into the Parisian sky.

She watched him leave, and when his silhouette finally faded away into nothingness, she turned to her bedroom hatch, where Tikki was waiting for her.

“How are you, Marinette?” She asked, her high pitched voice soft with concern and exhaustion.

“I'm fine, Tikki. Are you okay?”

“I wouldn't mind a cookie or two.”

Marinette laughed softly, shimmying down her ladder and to her drawer where she kept Tikki’s food. Her kwami rested lightly on her shoulder, sighing in contentment as Marinette handed her a cookie. Marinette didn’t need to look at her to know that Tikki was completely drained. The Incident had taken a great toll on her, and she had slept for the better part of a week, save for a brief patrol the night before the beach trip as well as when she needed to transform and tell Chat that she wasn’t able to join him in their superhero duties for the next few days.

“So you’re going to tell Chat what happened?” Tikki asked in between delicate little bites of her food. Her tone was mild, but Marinette could hear the slight disapproval in her squeaky voice.

“Yes,” Marinette said, and hesitated. “No.” Another heavy pause. “I don’t know.”

She glanced down at her body, most of her skin obscured by cloth, save for her hands and feet and head. She considered the risks of her mother coming up and ripping her bed sheets off of her in the morning. Deeming them not very high, Marinette pulled her long pajama pants off with a sigh of relief, letting the air seep into her fevered skin.

“You do realize that you’ll have to tell him your identity,” Tikki said gently. “Normally, we wouldn’t want this to happen, but if you need someone to talk to besides me…”

“I’m not going to tell him I’m Ladybug,” Marinette said tiredly. “I think I have an idea, but we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“Okay,” Tikki said, brushing her tiny fins against Marinette’s face and kissing her cheek. “I love you, Marinette.”

“I love you too, Tikki. Good night.”

She turned to her ladder, climbing up it and crawling into her bed. She sighed into her pillow, anxiety lurking in the corners of her mind. She tried to shoo it away, shoving the thoughts of her inevitable talk with Chat Noir to a dusty old box that she wouldn’t open until the morning. Instead, she thought of how caring Chat was to her tonight, the surety and safeness of his arms. She had watched him leave with a mildly startling revelation forming in her mind. Marinette’s thoughts lingered on it as her vision darkened, sleep brushing against her with an encouraging murmur.

It had been surprisingly hard to let him go.

* * *

 

The next day slipped by without incident. Marinette helped out in the kitchens, the hustle and bustle of the job effectively taking her mind off of the approaching explanation she would have to give to her partner. However, there was always that annoying wiggling in her stomach that came with her anxiety, and she mentally cursed it's growing intensity as the day wore on. At 7:00 PM precisely, Marinette collapsed on her bed with a heavy sigh. Tikki zoomed up to greet her, yawning hugely.

“How are you feeling? Are your cuts hurting?” She asked, concern and exhaustion permeating her tone.

“I'm fine Tikki,” Marinette said, bringing a finger to stroke her kwami’s head. “I should be the one asking you that question; you took the brunt of the damage.”

“I'm an immortal quantic god,” Tikki said, her sweet, childlike voice contrasting bizarrely with her statement. “I'm meant to deal with akuma, and while you're an amazing human, that doesn't change the fact that you're still just that—human. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you more, Marinette; you wouldn't have had to deal with all of this.” She looked down in what was presumably shame.

Marinette swallowed, affection for her small friend rising in her chest. “It's okay, Tikki,” she said, cupping her in her hands. “You did the best you could and that's the most I could ask of you. I knew there were risks when I decided to put on the earrings again.”

Her kwami still looked distressed, but Marinette gave her a gentle smile, feeling another wave of exhaustion wash over her.

“I’m going to take a nap,” she said, “Can you wake me up before Chat comes?”

Tikki nodded, and Marinette closed her eyes, almost immediately being pulled into unconsciousness.

It only felt like moments later that she opened them again, not to Tikki’s soft voice, but to a quiet tapping on her balcony door resounding through the darkness of her room. She looked over. Tikki was resting beside her, fast asleep.

“Shit,” she whispered. She clambered out of her twisting bedsheets, careful not to wake the snoozing being on her pillow. “Shit shit shit.”

She looked down at her attire. A baggy long-sleeved tee smudged with flour. _Safe._ Athletic shorts that revealed the jagged scars that decorated her legs. _Not safe! Definitely not safe!_

The tapping returned, the slightest bit louder. Marinette glanced at her legs again. Well, if she was going to tell him anyway, it wouldn’t do much to cover up. Forcing her mounting anxiety down, she wobbled over to the hatch and slowly pushed it open. She was met with wide, electric green eyes and a gloved fist ready to knock once more.

“Hi Chat,” She said quietly.

“Hi, Princess,” He replied softly, letting his hand drop.

“I’m gonna come up,” Marinette whispered. “I know you have night vision but promise not to stare, okay?”

She was prepared for the flirtatious _“But how could I not, Princess?”_ , or at least something similar, but Chat seemed to be taking this as seriously as Adrien had, because his only reply was a simple and earnest “okay.”

She slowly climbed up the ladder. She heard his quiet intake of breath as her legs came into view. They weren’t pretty, long slices zig-zagging across her skin at random, ranging from paper-thin cuts to thick, deep gouges that would start bleeding if she wasn’t careful enough. Some were still inflamed, the beginnings of infection setting in. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the moonlit night.

“Marinette…” Chat’s voice was strained.

“You should see the other guy,” She joked weakly, pulse jittery and hands shaking. Chat didn’t seem to think it was very funny; she could see the silhouette of his ridiculous leather cat ears flattened against his hair.

“Someone did this to you?” He demanded. Marinette gulped. Here it was, the moment of truth. Or at least, in her own case, a half-truth.

“Not some _one_ , some _thing,”_ She corrected softly. “It was an akuma, two weeks ago, around midnight. I was going for a walk, found myself in the middle of the fight, and it wasn’t pretty.”

She could hear the air hiss out from between Chat’s teeth. “An _akuma_? Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Marinette said. “It was some journalist who had gotten laid off because his employers were downsizing.” She smiled bitterly. “These are easily the worst papercuts I’ve gotten in my life.”

Chat flinched. “But—Ladybug’s cure—”

“Doesn’t quite work the way it should on me,” Marinette said. She forced out a chuckle from her sandpaper-lined throat. “Pretty unlucky, huh?”

He didn’t respond, but she could sense his distress like electricity running up her arms, a brewing storm underneath a suit of leather and skin.

“Y’know, it’s why I try and make myself scarce whenever there’s an akuma around,” she offered weakly, the lie almost catching on her teeth. “I’d probably dead by now if I didn’t.”

The shadow that was Chat Noir shifted closer, and she didn’t realize what was happening until she felt two arms wrap around her, pulling her into his warm embrace for the second time in two days.

“I’m so sorry, Princess,” he said, his voice very quiet. “I wish I had known, I would’ve…”

“What?” Marinette prodded, her voice doubtful. “Protected me better? You weren’t even there.”

He tensed and pulled away from her, and Marinette was suddenly slammed with the implications of her words.

“Oh shit,” she spluttered, “I didn’t mean—I know you would’ve been there if you could, and I know you couldn’t, and I’m so sorry, I don’t blame you at all, Chat.”

“No, you’re right,” Chat said, self deprecation flooding his tone. “I wasn’t even in Paris until a week ago. Forced vacation.”

“You probably deserved the break,” Marinette said quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He scoffed. “Wasn’t much of a break. I was itching to get back the entire time I was there. People got hurt while I was gone. _You_ got hurt while I was gone, and I could’ve done something to prevent that if I wasn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Marinette argued. “You couldn’t have predicted that an akuma would’ve attacked in the middle of the night, or that I would be there. Don’t blame yourself. This one’s on me.”

She shivered as a gust of cool air met her skin, and she leaned in closer to her partner. Chat, without hesitation, put an arm around her. Her stomach did a strange little flip.

“You know, that puts a whole new light on the whole Evillustrator incident,” Chat murmured, and Marinette shook her head against his chest, guilt settling onto her conscious like heavy dust. “He was after you and you didn’t even flinch. You’re incredible.”

Marinette breathed out slowly, choosing not to respond to him. Her heart thumped a steady, accusing beat. _Liar. Liar. Liar. Liar._

Chat’s voice broke her out of her reverie. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Marinette pointed out, smiling.

“I mean _besides_ that,” he said with a disdainful sniff, but she could feel the subtle vibrations of repressed laughter in his chest.

“Go for it.”

Chat paused, as if to gather the strength to speak. Marinette waited patiently.

“...Why didn’t you tell your friend about it?” he eventually asked, his voice timid. “The Agreste kid. Why didn’t you tell him?”

Marinette sighed, and stepped away from her partner, cool air filling the space she created. She brought her hands up to her temples, massaging them in a futile effort to rub away the stress headache that had been brewing for the past two days.

“No one else knows about the cuts,” she confessed. “Not even my parents. Really, there’s nothing that they would be able to do to help me at this point. It would be pointless to worry my friends and family like that. Adrien included.” She paused, and let out another humorless laugh. “But I guess I messed that up, too. He's freaking out and it's all my fault.”

Another wave of guilt crashed over her. If only she hadn’t been so rash, or careless, then her friends wouldn’t be suffering for her sake. Chat Noir and Adrien were both so important to her, and it made her heart ache to think of them panicking because of some superficial wounds she got while doing her job as Paris’ hero.

“It’s not your fault,” Chat said. He stepped closer, bridging the distance between them once more. “I think,” he said in a low voice, catlike eyes meeting hers, “you should tell him. It hurts to keep secrets, especially from the people you care about. And it will probably give him some peace to know that you trust him.”

She bit her lip. “Maybe. I just...Adrien has enough to worry about. I don't want to be a burden he feels obligated to carry.”

“I don't think you're a burden in any way,” Chat said immediately. “I'm sure Adrien would feel the exact same.”

“That's the problem,” Marinette mumbled, shaking her head. “You both are too selfless for your own good.”

“It's not selfless to care about your friends,” Chat said gently.

She couldn’t bring herself to match his scrutinizing gaze, and she glanced away.

“Marinette…” Chat said, his voice as soft as down in the quiet of the night. She had never heard him sound so serious before. “You’re not a burden in any way. Please, don't be afraid to trust people. Don't be afraid to rely on your friends to keep you safe. That includes me.” His hand came up to cup her face. “You’re important to so many people.”

Marinette leaned into the touch, offering him a tiny, hesitant smile. “Thank you, Chat. I'll try.”

“Tell me if you need anything. I’m serious.”

“I know you are; you haven’t made a pun once this entire night.”

Chat smiled. “I’m _paw_ sitively sorry for that, Princess. I hope you can _fur_ give me.”

Marinette, despite herself, grinned. “That’s the Chat Noir I’m used to.”

He chuckled, and leaned closer. “Thanks, Princess,” he whispered. “Stay safe.”

“Good night, Chat Noir,” Marinette said softly.

He withdrew his hand from her cheek, needles of cool air replacing his warmth. His catlike pupils met hers, and his green eyes were suddenly inscrutable, an enigma that Marinette found the sudden urge to figure out, piece by piece. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something else, but he paused, shaking his head a little bit, and silently backed away from her. Chat turned around, leaping off of her balcony with a feline grace, an inhuman ease. Marinette watched as he melted into the night like a moth to the light, the gleam of his baton and whirl of his limbs soon being devoured by darkness.

Marinette sat down on the lounge chair, staring at the dark, smooth bowl of sky. There were no stars in Paris, but the moon was out, glowing softly. Her bones were buzzing with panic and relief and something that she couldn’t put a finger on, a honeyed feeling that dripped from her heart into her limbs, a wine richer than blood blurring through her veins. She had never felt so awake.

_How could he care so much about a girl he barely knew?_

His touches felt like his hands had known her face for years, his gaze picking her apart like she was his favorite puzzle to solve. She had only been with Chat in this face, in this life, for the briefest periods of times. Only enough to say a few words. Only enough to smile, and leave.

“Does he know?” She asked out loud. She let her question hang on the night, floating softly beyond the atmosphere to sit with the obscured stars. A car honked in the distance.

She shook her head. No, he didn’t know. He couldn’t know her identity. She had never given him reason to.

But the way he had held her, so gently, and the way he had spoken so tenderly, that wasn’t duty. That was someone who cared on a deeply personal level. He had acted like he _knew_ her. She bit her lip. Or maybe Chat Noir was just that...good _._ He was always the more compassionate of the two of them, the most willing to let himself and his big heart slip through the mask and claws.

She felt her heart soften. Maybe she should take her partner’s advice, give Adrien a small piece of herself so that he might take the opportunity to break past the walls she had put up so resolutely. Sure, she had been angry with him, but Marinette had seen what petty anger could do to a person, how it could end in such pointless hurt and destruction. Adrien had told Chat about her legs with good intentions, and while she still felt like he had pushed too far into her private life, she couldn’t say that she regretted talking about her injuries to her partner.

No, there was no remorse in her heart. Only a deep and unyielding feeling of relief.

Marinette closed her eyes. Maybe Chat was right. Maybe she would text Adrien tomorrow, try to work things out with him. Maybe she needed to let someone in, for once.

Her seemingly incessant, buzzing energy was suddenly replaced by a crest of exhaustion pouring into her limbs, and she blew out a sigh, letting her eyes close. The chatter of the city, alive even in the early hours, sang to her like a lullaby. The summer night curled into her skin, and she soon found herself succumbing to the soft hush of the evening wind and the comforting haze of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay thank u for reading and hopefully the next chapter won't take half a year to write next time


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